


Hidden

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: AU Yeah AUgust 2020 [23]
Category: Transformers – All Media Types
Genre: AU Yeah August 2020, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Crime & Criminals, Developing Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Abusive Relationships, Renovations, True Crime, Writing, moving in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: Prowl bought his dream house and retired from the force but crimes and investigations aren't done with him yet.
Relationships: Jazz & Prowl, Jazz & Ricochet, past Jazz/OC
Series: AU Yeah AUgust 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860307
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49





	Hidden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for AU Yeah AUgust Day 27. Prompt: Ghosts
> 
> Prompt: Prowl bought an ancient house/manor and is in love with the place. One night, they hear tinkling of piano keys from the next room, and find Jazz (a ghost, possibly?) playing the piano, illuminated by the moonlight.  
> [[Source: twitter.com/OTPsgenerator](https://twitter.com/OTPsgenerator)]

Prowl set the last crate of his belongings down on the floor, in front of the built-in shelves that would hold them, and looked around. The room in the ancient house he'd just bought was – well, it required work, frankly. But Prowl had known that even when he'd looked at the images on the real estate listing. He didn't care. He'd been intrigued by the house even before he'd set foot in it, and once he had, he'd just fallen in love. The inside needed renovations, but the shell was sturdily built. Despite its age, the house did not leak or suffer from draughts. It even came with some of the furniture, to Prowl's delight, though he wouldn't use all of it. It would be good for show and to display the original character of the home.

"You really want to live here?" his partner Barricade – former partner, now that Prowl had retired – asked. The other mech was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, looking around skeptically. "I mean, it's kind of a dump."

"The renovations will keep me occupied," Prowl said, repeating an argument they'd been having for some time. "Besides, the house itself is solid. It's only the interior that needs some work."

"You're crazy," Barricade informed him bluntly. "You could probably retire to Hedonia with everything you've invested and socked away. But you want to fix this place up?"

"Yes." Prowl was done with arguing. It wasn't Barricade's concern, not anymore. They weren't even really friends, but Prowl hadn't had much to move. Buying Barricade dinner in exchange for help was more cost-effective than hiring a moving company. Besides, he wouldn't have to talk to the mech again if he didn't want to after this.

"Alright, well, it's your smelting, I guess. Where d'you want to hit up for dinner?"

Prowl actually wanted to unpack and begin his new life, but an agreement was an agreement, and so he let Barricade choose the restaurant. The evening was not as objectionable as he'd expected it to be, but Prowl was still relieved when it came to an end, and he could go home.

The house was dark and echoed strangely, but Prowl was not bothered by it as some mecha might have been. He went to bed, out almost as soon as he laid his head on the pillow.

* * *

Prowl woke to the sound of rhodium-robins chirping in the tangle of cable-vines and crystals that served as the back yard. The house's systems were pinging him for a connection. Prowl hadn't had time yesterday to set the systems to his personal preferences, and so he loaded the app to his HUD and did that over breakfast. The house's dining room was much larger than the combined living-dining room in his little condo in Central Praxus, and Prowl revelled in finally having space. The cleaning drones worked away in the background while he fuelled, washing down walls and windows and cleaning the floors. They were the same vintage as the house, and one made a concerning buzz, but they worked well enough. Prowl could take care of anything they left behind later.

The first day in the house was spent unpacking and planning what to do with each room. Prowl wanted to leave it mostly as it was, and there were some rooms he didn't have any use for at all, like the music room. Prowl enjoyed music but had never learned to play, though he briefly amused himself by taking the dust cover from the piano and pressing a few keys.

The piano was still in tune. It must tune itself automatically since it had been stellar-cycles since anyone had played it. The previous owner had offlined, and his heirs hadn't wanted the house. Prowl had seen it for the first time five stellar-cycles ago and had fallen in love with it. Never much of one for material goods, he had put spare shanix into higher-risk investments that he calculated would give the best yield to get to the down payment as fast as he could. Investing instead of borrowing had been wise since the house price had dropped steadily, and Prowl could afford it much more quickly. Prowl couldn't figure out why no one else had wanted it, but he was just as glad they hadn't.

Prowl looked at the garden and had no idea what to do with it, so he left it for later. He would likely hire someone to take care of it since he expected to spend most of his time in the house.

The second day in the house was spent exploring, although Prowl had seen it before. He wanted to take a second look and see if anything had been changed since he'd viewed it. He also wanted to take an inventory of everything that had been left behind. It was mostly furniture and décor items, though, in the attic, Prowl was delighted to find a box full of old true-crime magazines printed on thin single-purpose datapads. The tales were lurid and meant for the public, not investigative purposes, but many of the cases were now cold or even unknown to Prowl. He carried them downstairs and put them on a shelf in his new study for later perusal. He picked out one to read while drinking his evening fuel, not planning to do research or attempt to solve it, only to read it.

Four joors later, Prowl was in his study, the text of the datapad scanned to his terminal, researching the case and correcting multiple errors in the article. It had never been solved, but Prowl's analysis indicated that yes, the conjunx was the most likely suspect. Prowl could even see how they had fabricated their alibi. No, Prowl was not an Enforcer anymore. He'd retired, but he still had contacts on the force, and there was no statute of limitations on murder. Prowl wondered what else the magazines held, what improved technologies and analysis might yet yield.

Near midnight he was still working. Prowl was deep into research for another cold case when the sound of piano music registered. He put down the datapad and looked up, frowning. He had not left any media playing – hadn't even turned any on since moving in – and this sound was distinctly out of place.

Prowl put the Enforcer contact line on standby and went to investigate. He doubted it was an intruder since he had not received any alerts from the security system, but it paid to be cautious. It was more likely a malfunction in the self-tuning piano or a test sequence since it was coming from the music room. Prowl had turned in his service weapon and was unarmed but confident in his ability to handle an intruder who had only entered the house to play the piano.

The music room had large windows that let in the light of the moons. The piano was likely strategically placed so that moonlight fell over it, illuminating the mech sitting at the keyboard.

Prowl had been sparked an Enforcer and worked in that capacity his entire functioning, save the past two cycles. There was one exit from the music room, and he blocked it, then gave the intruder a warning with a whoop of his sirens, making them jump.

"Stand up from the piano and turn around with your hands in view," Prowl ordered before the mech could recover from their surprise. They obeyed, but Prowl was in for a surprise of his own upon realizing the mech was translucent.

Prowl immediately felt the oncoming sensation of a crash, his glitch faced with the impossibility of a ghost, but then the mech flickered, and he recognized what he was looking at: a hologram. One that required maintenance but was solid enough to touch the piano or influence an automatic function. Prowl had not seen a record of any such system in the house data, but the building was old enough that gaps in the records were to be expected.

"You ain't Crosstalk," the hologram said, frowning. "He got a new live-in groupie already? That slagger… I hardly even started packing yet."

Crosstalk had been the previous owner of the house, now offline. "I've never met Crosstalk," Prowl said truthfully. "And I am certainly no-one's 'live-in groupie.' Identify yourself."

"The name's Jazz," the hologram replied. "Jazz of Staniz. I'm a musician, been living here with my – well, I wouldn't call him 'sweetspark' at this point – but with Crosstalk."

"What are you doing here?"

Jazz shrugged. "Guess I got a little bored or stressed or something and decided to play for a bit to relax."

"You 'guess,'" Prowl repeated. The house had been quite empty, he was sure of that. The only place he hadn't checked was the basement, but a quick scan of house records showed that the door had not been opened. "You aren't certain?"

"I – " Jazz looked confused. "I guess not. I mean, it's kind of…fuzzy?" He brought a hand up to rub at his temple only to jerk it away in surprise and stare at it when he wasn't quite as substantial as he'd expected. "What the -? What the frag?" He looked at Prowl, clearly beginning to panic. "Did you see that? You saw that? Right?"

"I saw it," Prowl said, automatically trying to calm the other. "Jazz. Do you remember how you got here?"

"Of course I do. Down the stairs from the second-floor bedroom, along the hall, through the…" He trailed off. "I mean, I know how to do it, but I don't remember actually doing it. But I have to have done, right? I didn't just – appear here."

It was possible Jazz was a holographic AI but Prowl doubted it. Who would program an AI with such a complicated story, and why? However, it did not explain how the mech could project their own image through the holographic system.

"Before being in here, what is the last thing you do remember?"

"Uh…arguing with Cross, but lately, that's not a real specific thing. He said a couple nasty things 'bout – " Jazz shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter. Anyway, I told him to go frag himself and that I was done, was gonna find a place and be back for my stuff in a couple cycles. Turned my back on him and walked away. I know he followed me, but I don't remember anything after that. Feels like the files are there but corrupted, maybe. I can't access them."

Prowl's experience with relationships turned sour strongly suggested that Crosstalk had struck or otherwise damaged Jazz. It was not proof, of course, and it did not explain how Jazz was now able to project himself through the holographic systems. Prowl was familiar with the house's systems specifications and knew they could not support a mech's personality matrix. Certainly not enough to allow Jazz to hold a conversation or express emotion.

"Anyway," Jazz continued, starting to sound a little annoyed, "none of that explains how I just felt my _fingers_ sink into my fragging _helm_! I don't have any dama – " he broke off, froze, clearly trying to read or reboot his HUD. "I don't have any damage reports," he finished. "I don't have any reports at all, I don't – what is – " Jazz began to flicker as if he could no longer sustain the connection to the holographic projector. "Hey! What – "

Jazz disappeared, and Prowl was alone with his many questions.

Prowl immediately accessed the house's systems and ran a diagnostic on the music room's systems, attempting to track Jazz's recent access back to the source. Simultaneously he accessed the local Enforcer's DataNet site and searched for any missing persons designated Jazz. It seemed unlikely he had been murdered since Prowl felt he had definitely been speaking with a living mech. Prowl searched back half a vorn before finding Jazz, and the information was sparse. It reported that he had left this house after an argument with his partner and had last been seen heading for a transport station.

Either Jazz had left and come back, been brought back, or this report was in error. Whether that error was intentional or not, Prowl had no way to tell. It could explain, at least partially, why the house did not seem to have been searched. Prowl's trace through the house systems had come back and reported that access had come from the basement. Prowl had been down there earlier during his exploration of the house and had not seen anything suspicious, but clearly, there was something he had missed.

By itself, the basement was nothing special. It was a large empty space, used for storage and access to wiring and plumbing and little else. There was no immediately visible reason for it to have been securely locked. Prowl frowned and began a careful examination of the space. There was nothing immediately visible, but Prowl eventually noticed that the basement was shorter than the house's full width. It _could_ be explained by an extension of the upper levels, but Prowl had his doubts. He checked over the wall again, scanners at maximum, but it was his fingertips brushing over a slight distortion that yielded a result. Prowl ran his fingers down the seam, seeking a pressure panel or some kind of release and finally found one. It revealed another lock, and Prowl brute-forced it. A small room, barely more than a closet, opened up, revealing a stasis tube and that stasis tube contained Jazz.

Prowl stayed perfectly still for a moment, waiting to see if his processor would attempt a crash, but it did not. He scanned for any traps or monitoring devices that might be set to harm intruders or the prisoner, but there were none. Once he'd done that, Prowl approached the tube cautiously and checked the vital signs on the small monitor on its side. Everything was green, and he could see that the tube's power supply was spliced into the house's systems, though it clearly hadn't been done by a professional. It looked hasty, put together with bits of mismatched wiring and electrical tape, and Prowl was concerned that any attempt to undo it might harm Jazz. If done correctly or naturally by a Cybertronian's own systems, Stasis was safe, but Prowl doubted this was done correctly. He certainly shouldn't attempt to bring Jazz out of it himself.

Prowl accessed the house's comm systems and called EMS and the Enforcers.

* * *

"How'd you manage to miss a hidden room and a mech in stasis when you had this place inspected?" Barricade asked as they watched EMS load Jazz and the stasis tube into an ambulance.

"The keyword, Barricade," Prowl said tiredly, "is 'hidden.' I think you should look into how many more of Crosstalk's partners or associates went missing over the vorn."

"Well, yeah, but the mech's dead now. What are we gonna charge him with?"

"The families would appreciate it, Barricade."

"Huh, suppose. You coming back in for this one?"

Prowl thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I'm not. I'm done with criminal investigations, remember?"

"Sure, Prowl. Whatever you say."

* * *

It was two cycles before Prowl was alerted that Jazz had been revived and could receive visitors. Indeed, he'd asked to meet his rescuer, though Prowl wasn't sure if he remembered their conversation in the music room or not. Prowl had agreed, and now he was standing in the mech's room, introductions done, enduring a mutually awkward silence.

"So," Jazz began finally, hesitantly, "guess you're not really a dream, then. They say you can't dream in stasis, but I kinda wondered. Ever figure out how I managed to hook into the projector like that?"

"The engineer who examined the stasis tube and the hidden room after you were taken out of it called it a 'marvel of amateur cross-wiring,' but I'm afraid I didn't understand it," Prowl said apologetically. "It seems to have been a combination of that and your self-repair systems attempting to bring you back online somehow."

"I thought those didn't run when you were in stasis."

Prowl shrugged. "The marvels of amateur cross-wiring, I expect."

Jazz chuckled. "Yeah, sounds like it. Uh – anyone tell you what happened to me? Cause no one really wants to give me details."

"No," Prowl said truthfully. "Those details haven't been released."

"Damn. Hope they get around to it. I-I'd like to know what happened after…" Jazz looked away. "Crosstalk turned into a bastard at the end, but I didn't think he'd – Anyway. Got a therapist coming in for me, guess I should drop that on him instead of you."

Prowl was relieved to hear that, but he did rather hope that Jazz had someone other than a state therapist to support him.

"Has anyone been called for you?" Prowl asked. "Any friends or family…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I've got a twin sib, Ricochet, he's been off-world, but he's coming back soon as he can. Guess there was a rumour I'd been seen on Velocitron, and he went chasing it. I've talked to him on comms, though."

"That's good."

"Yeah, it really is. He never did like Crosstalk, so," Jazz looked away. "If he wants to say 'I told you so,' I guess I'm gonna have to let him, huh?" He changed the subject. "You got any sibs, Prowl?"

Prowl shook his head. "No. Is there anyone closer?"

"Still got friends, they've called, but none of 'em are in a place where they can just drop stuff and come. I'm expecting a couple of them in a few cycles, though."

Prowl would not be surprised if Crosstalk had worked to isolate Jazz though it was good to hear that Jazz had been able to resume contact with friends and family. It would have been better if some were here now, though. Prowl had noted throughout his service that friends or family's physical presence had a more significant impact than contact via comms or messages.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision and not based on logic, but Prowl took a cautious step forward, reading Jazz's expression and body language for rejection.

"I would be happy to stay with you if you don't want to be alone," he offered. "Unless that is too strange."

Jazz thought about it for a moment, then sat up a little straighter. "It's maybe a little weird? But I'd like the company, sure. Pull up the standard-issue chair, then, and tell me a little about what I've missed out on."

"Certainly."

The chair was not comfortable, and Prowl was on it for a few joors, but he didn't complain.

* * *

Ricochet arrived in town within a cycle, having put up the credits to travel via space-bridge, which had slowly become more expensive than travel by ship. Jazz was up and about by then, staying in the hospital mainly because there was nowhere else for him to _go_. When he'd disappeared, his twin had been given conservatorship of Jazz's property and finances, which for all anyone knew might have been his estate. Jazz hadn't had much and, because he'd been living with Crosscut, didn't have an apartment to go back to. At least when Ricochet came to town, Jazz would be able to move out to a hotel room.

"Be almost like when we were batched," Jazz joked to Prowl, though he could tell the other mech would be relieved to get out of the hospital. "The priest-tech's didn't expect it 'cause twins usually split early, but Rico says I always did like a show and probably held him back. We wound up sharing the bed that was meant for me, just jammed in together, for a bit."

Prowl remembered how small the barracks for newly-sparked Enforcer had been and couldn't imagine sharing his bunk there with someone else. It had been far too narrow to do so comfortably, anyway. He hoped that in the hotel room, there would at least be two beds.

Prowl only met Ricochet briefly, exchanged greetings and accepted his thanks for rescuing Jazz. Then Prowl quietly left the two to their reunion.

* * *

Prowl had expected he might hear from Jazz again on occasion but that it might take some time. Prowl might have rescued him, but he also lived in the house where Jazz was likely involved in an abusive relationship. It would be understandable if Jazz didn't want reminders. He would also require an adjustment period after having been in involuntary stasis for stellar-cycles.

Nearly a deca-cycle passed, and Prowl didn't hear from Jazz, though he didn't think anything of it. The call came in one morning, and Prowl took it on a console, pleased to see Jazz looking cheerful. He'd not been in poor repair before, but since Prowl had seen him last, he'd been repainted and polished. Ricochet's treat, perhaps: it was unlikely that Jazz's finances had been released back to him as of yet. That would likely require a hearing.

"Heya, Prowl," Jazz greeted him. "How're you doing? Hope I'm not bugging you."

"I'm doing well, thank you, and it's not a bother. I'm grateful for the break, in fact." Prowl had spent the day moving furniture away from the walls and covering it in drop-cloths to prepare for painting. "How have you been, Jazz?"

"Good, good," Jazz said, nodding. "Rico's a big help, and some of my friends showed up. A few more came out of the walls. Guess Cross – well, he sold 'em a bill of goods, said I'd just decided to go off-world after a fight, and that _is_ the kinda thing I would've done. Mostly when I was younger, but – yeah. They tried to get word to me, find out why they weren’t hearing from me, reported me missing but no luck. Don't know why no one ever searched the house. Maybe they just weren't as thorough as you."

"The room was well-hidden and shielded," Prowl replied diplomatically, though he felt that a properly conducted investigation should have included a scan for hidden areas. He hoped that Jazz didn't ask why Crosstalk had had the room in the first place. There were several answers to that, and none of them were good.

"Yeah, I guess. I try not to think about that too much," Jazz admitted. "Uh, speaking of the house, I've got kind of a weird favour to ask."

"Yes?"

"If it's not too strange, I'd like to visit, see the place. I just – I mean, if it's okay with you."

Jazz seemed to want some form of closure. It was not a need Prowl had experienced himself, but he had witnessed it enough in his duties that he understood the necessity, somewhat.

"Of course," Prowl replied. "I'm generally home as I'm performing minor renovations, but you may visit whenever you wish."

Jazz didn't look reassured, but he didn't look frightened either. "Thanks, mech."

* * *

It took a few cycles before Jazz accepted Prowl's invitation and showed up at his door. He was alone, or at least Ricochet was not in range of visual sensors.

"Hey," Jazz said. "This a good time?"

Prowl stepped back to allow him in. "Of course. Be careful of the walls in the living room. They're still wet."

"Yeah, okay. You wanna show me 'round, or - ?"

"I don't believe it's necessary," Prowl replied. "You can look around. I'll be in the parlour, stripping the mouldings if you require anything."

Prowl had an entire wall's worth of moulding stripped, no mean feat since it was intricate, by the time Jazz returned. Prowl was not entirely sure of his expression, but the set of his shoulders was more relaxed.

"Thanks for letting me do that," Jazz said. "Can't say why, but I really do feel better."

Prowl nodded in acknowledgement. "You're quite welcome. I'm glad I was able to help you find resolution." He began to climb down from his stepladder. "May I offer you some energon?"

"Thanks, but I'm not really hungry." Jazz looked at the moulding Prowl had been working on. "So, how much of this place are you planning on redoing?"

"Stripping and repainting the moulding, repainting the walls, several of the floors need to be redone, additional other minor interior renovations," Prowl replied. "I imagine it will take me some time."

"Yeah, sounds like," Jazz replied. He spent a moment clearly considering something. "Uh, gonna be weird again here, maybe, but would you like some help? Sounds like this place is gonna look a whole lot different once you're done and, uh – "

"You'd like to help change it," Prowl finished for him. And, perhaps, feel a bit as if he was making the space his own, or at least less Crosstalk's.

"Yeah. Give me something to do, too."

That would be important too, Prowl supposed. Very well, he supposed he could allow Jazz to assist him. Prowl had not learned anything about Jazz that would suggest he would be a risk to have in the house.

"I'd appreciate the assistance," Prowl replied, and Jazz smiled.

"Alright. Show me what I need to do."

* * *

Working with Jazz on the renovations was far from the quiet yet busy time that Prowl had expected. Jazz was almost always in motion, almost always making noise. He hummed and sang, broke out into the occasional dance step and talked. He was quiet often enough that he managed not to get on Prowl's nerves, seeming to have a good sense for when enough was enough.

Ricochet stopped by occasionally, but not to work. The times were always random, and Prowl was quite sure he was checking up on Jazz and Prowl. Ricochet seemed to think Jazz's desire to be in this house for any reason was odd but never explicitly said anything. If they had arguments over it, it was never where Prowl could hear or see. Jazz's sibling seemed happy simply to have him back, and from Jazz's stories, Prowl knew they spent most of their free time together. It sounded as if they had fun, although bars and clubs were not really Prowl's idea of a good time. He preferred to spend his nights in his study, researching cases in the old crime magazines, attempting to find a solution. The study needed work but not much, and so it took time before he and Jazz got around to it.

Prowl had put his crime datapads away before Jazz entered the study, thinking that perhaps the contents might make Jazz uncomfortable. Prowl had quickly learned that Jazz was quite curious and wasn't surprised that, very soon, he asked if Prowl was working on anything.

Prowl was not sure Jazz truly wanted to know, but at the same time, the amount of detail he'd wish was Jazz's decision.

"I'm researching old cases," Prowl replied, keeping the answer safe and straightforward.

"From your Enforcer days?"

"No." Prowl had had a high solve rate and few cold cases. "I found some old true-crime magazines in the attic after I moved in."

Jazz went a little stiff. "Mine one of 'em?"

"No," Prowl assured him. "No, these are from several vorn ago."

"Oh, that's okay then. Not gonna bother me." Jazz flashed him a smile, but Prowl thought it was a little bit of a front. "Thanks for keeping it short and making sure I wouldn't freak out, though. Appreciate it. Let's get to work, yeah?"

Prowl agreed and worked in silence until Jazz started to hum, and Prowl knew he was feeling better. Near the end of the day, Jazz asked if Prowl would share some of his work.

"Used to be into some true crime stuff," Jazz explained. "I mean, maybe I shouldn't be considering what happened, but it just feels like one more thing Crosstalk tried to take away, y'know?"

Prowl didn't but trusted Jazz to understand his own needs.

"I can certainly send you some to read," Prowl said, "but I'm afraid I'm not much of a writer. It may be fairly dry."

Jazz said he didn't mind, and two cycles after Prowl sent him the files, he brought the subject up again.

"Mech, can I be honest?" Jazz said and went on once Prowl nodded his agreement. "You were not kidding when you said it was dry, but your data and your conclusions all seem tight. It was just…it was _all_ data and conclusions. Little difficult to get through, but I did like it. You're one hell of a detective."

Prowl had many commendations on his file and even medals that said as much but for some reason hearing it from Jazz was different. "Thank you."

"Ever thought about releasing it as a book or something?" Jazz asked.

"I didn't intend for it to catch mass interest."

"Well, no, not as it is now, but if you dress it up some, polish it up a little, it maybe could."

Now Prowl felt unaccountably shy, as he had not in vorn. "I don't know that I have the skill to 'dress it up' as you put it. Creative writing has never been one of my skills, though applied judiciously, I can see how it might create appeal for a broader audience."

Jazz was clearly interested. "Is publishing something you're interested in?"

"Perhaps academically." Jazz was not the only curious mech in the room, so Prowl was driven to ask, "do you have any interest in 'dressing it up' if I did?"

"Oh. Wow, I hadn't thought about that, but – I mean, I can at least give it a try? Been a while since I wrote anything but songs, though."

Prowl had never intended to show his work to anyone else, let alone publish it. He was not under the illusion that anything he – or he and Jazz – wrote would be an instant bestseller and would likely be rejected. But he was also curious to see what Jazz would bring to Prowl's dry lists and paragraphs of data.

"I look forward to seeing what you bring to it."

"I'll do my best," Jazz promised and grinned. "Means you might be stuck with me for a while."

Prowl smiled, still feeling a little shy but certainly not displeased at the idea of seeing more of Jazz. "I believe I can accept that."

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
> 
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>   * Short comments
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> Author Responses: This author replies to comments. If you don't want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with "whisper," and I will appreciate it but not respond.


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